


Undress Uniform

by 221b_hound



Series: Lock and Key [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Captain John Watson, Dirty Talk, Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Nipple Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-His Last Vow, Sexual Fantasy, Sherlock in Panties, Soldier Sherlock, Tattoos, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 01:37:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3631776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221b_hound/pseuds/221b_hound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has seen Sherlock masturbating with the bedding. Now Sherlock wants to watch what John does when he's home alone and thinking of Sherlock. John claims "I just wank, mainly" - but there's much more going on than meets the eye. Because John is a romanticist, and a storyteller, and his 'mainly wanking' goes with some very fine imagery. Which he'll tell Sherlock about, once he gets over his embarrassment, and if Sherlock can stop interupting to ask for clarification.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undress Uniform

**Author's Note:**

> YOu can read about John watching Sherlock have at a pillow (and joining in at the end) in [Pillow Talk](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3549359).

Sherlock arranged the petrie dishes on the table, carefully aligning them with matching slides so that results could be verified. It was one of his many quirks, that Sherlock was a man of untidy habits except where it came to his work.

And the sock index, but that was an aberration, or rather, it was a habit he had cultivated. Without fail, it indicated whether someone had searched his drawers for things that were none of their damned business. Growing up, he could even tell by the results whether the interloper had been Mummy, Dad or Bloody Mycroft. These days he could tell if it had been Mrs Hudson (she’d return them in a panic, knowing he'd be cross about it, and without fail transpose the ones with the white trim with those bearing the bone trim) or John.

John, from the start, never even bothered to conceal it, even going so far once as to boldly state that if Sherlock was going to continue to be so cavalier about John's possessions, he could expect quid pro quo. John had in fact deliberately placed brand new pairs of socks in there from time to time, just to annoy Sherlock. Sherlock particularly loathed the Arsenal football socks and he'd used them in an experiment with volatile chemicals, though the ones with the little skulls on them, which had appeared last week, were amusing.

Now that the investigation into the cultures from the suspect hand creams was underway, Sherlock pushed back from the table and considered John, and his annoying sock gifts.

"Why socks?" He asked.

John, reading the paper in his chair, turned the page and flicked it to get the crinkle out of the pages. "Flowers don't seem appropriate."

"So you buy me ugly socks?"

"Yep. The football socks served you right for that crack about the blog. And you like the skulls." His glance flickered down to Sherlock’s shod feet.

Sherlock only made a noncommittal grunt, not willing to confirm that, yes, he was wearing the skull socks right now.

John returned his attention to the newspaper. Sherlock rose from the kitchen chair and stalked over to the armchair. There, he waited.

John ignored him for exactly eighteen seconds, then looked up. His eyes were at the level of Sherlock's stomach. Sherlock made sure to stand in a way that pulled his shirt tight across his abdomen.

"Yes?" John failed to take the bait.

It was possible John hadn't noticed the bait. But no. John was a highly sexualised man. In their first few years of acquaintance he had unfailingly flirted with every woman of his preferred age range and barely spent a week without a girlfriend or in pursuit of one.

No, wait. That was faulty logic. John had pursued women in part to avoid thinking of his sexual interest in Sherlock, believing it unreciprocated (and that was nobody's fault but Sherlock ‘Not My Area’ Holmes's). Then there had been Moriarty, Sherlock's 'death', all leading to Mary and Magnusson and...

Wrong track. Turn back. Start over.

John. Highly sexualised. Attuned to sexual signals, even those that Sherlock had eventually sent out, and which John had resisted due to circumstance (and once more nobody's fault but Sherlock ‘Short Story Not Dead' Holmes’s) but that was done and now they were at last together and John had proven adept at noticing even the most subtle sexual signal from Sherlock which meant that right now he was...

 _Teasing_.

Sherlock blinked at looked at John, who was still looking up at him expectantly.

Sherlock shifted his stance slightly to jut out a hip and let his shirt pull tight across his chest.

"You made me a promise."

John's tongue darted out over his lower lip. "Which particular promise was that?"

"You said," Sherlock tucked his chin down and gave John his most calculating Come Hither look. It had worked on waitstaff, real estate agents and members of parliament of all genders, "You would show me what you did when you were alone and thought of me."

Unexpectedly, John’s response was a grimace. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Your ‘come hither’ face. I've seen you do that to suspects and informants. Don’t do it to me." He shifted on the chair in his discomfort, "Don't do those fake faces if you want me. Just... Just..."

Sherlock took a small hitching breath. He considered and then instantly dismissed being offended by the observation. John was right. Sherlock was still not quite used to this: being allowed to ask; being allowed to _have_. He was still at times defaulting to the playacting he’d always done so that nobody would ever know that anything _mattered_.

But this mattered. He was _allowed_ to be honest with John, now. He didn’t have to treat this like a game, something he could brush off if John said no.

_John doesn't say no. Sometimes ‘not right now’, but… never ‘no’._

Sherlock went to his knees, eyes on John’s the whole time, and when he was kneeling in front of John, his expression open and honest and asking, he said, "John. Please. I want to see how you pleasure yourself."

He thought the phrasing was awkward and awful; ludicrous – but John’s slow smile and bright blue eyes and resumption of lip-licking said otherwise. 

"It's nothing fancy," said John, "I'm not inventive with the bedding like you are." His tone suggested he approved of Sherlock's inventiveness. "I just wank, really."

But there was awkwardness there too. A slight evasive glance to one side, and his knee jogged nervously. His hand began to clench then unclench, a brief but distinctive gesture. _Oh yes._ There was more to this.

“I’d still like to know if you look anything the way I used to imagine you did.”

There came that licky tongue again. Sherlock felt he ought to be a bit embarrassed about how that busy little tongue made his cock grow thick, but remembered, again, that he didn’t have to find ways to hide it any more.

“You imagined that, did you?” said John.

“Yes. Often.”

Lick. Swallow. _God._ Sherlock, still kneeling, spread his thighs a little apart to make his response more obvious. And ah, yes, the reward – John was staring at his crotch, transfixed, heart rate elevated, tongue darting out to his lips again.

John's gaze moved from Sherlock's crotch, to his mouth, down again, then up again. "All right." He undid the top button of his jeans.

“Not here,” said Sherlock, eyes on John’s. “Where you normally go. How you normally do it.”

Sherlock was half hoping that John would rise with unseemly haste, but instead, John gave a slow, lascivious smile and did up the button again. “My old room then.” And he rose and without a backward glance, did that strut-stride that Sherlock so enjoyed, out of the living room and up the stairs.

Sherlock gave him a few paces head start, so when he arrived in the room, John had already stripped down to his pants and vest. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, palming himself, with his eyes closed. Sherlock paused at the door, watching.

John’s hand on his clothed cock was definitely arousing but then, Sherlock found almost anything John did arousing, even when he wasn’t trying to be arousing. More interesting, however, was the look on John’s face. As though he were far away and thinking of something else. He rubbed his cock some more, then wriggled his fingers into the front of his boxers and played in there until a few moments later, he brought his cock out. Thick, flushed and the tip of it visible, surrounded by the gathered foreskin. Sherlock really wanted to lick it. He looked to John’s expression again, and frowned.

_What is he thinking about?_

_“I just wank, really.” But then the awkwardness. The looking away._

And then ideas tumbled together in Sherlock’s head.

_Annoyed that I criticised the way he embellishes the cases in his blog. He’s a storyteller, which is a disservice to the logic. But – a storyteller. He’s a romanticist, has to make everything a story, doesn’t do fancy things with bedding, but he’s thinking of something else, knowing I’m here watching. He’s…._

“Oh.”

John stopped his slow wanking and opened an eye. “Aaahh. Is this all right?” He looked self-conscious.

“No,” said Sherlock, and he stepped into the room. He knelt on the floor in front of John again. “What are you thinking?”

“What? Nothing. No. Why?”

“Because you’re thinking of me.”

“Well, yeah. I generally do when I’m getting myself off and you’re not around.”

“You are thinking something very specific about me.”

“No. Not really.”

“John. Don’t.”

“I…”

“You want my honesty when I want you. You have it. But I want the same. You’re not just thinking about me. You’re _fantasising_.”

John sighed and released his flagging cock. “Yeah. But…”

“I want to know.”

“It’s… it’s not…” He sighed again. “You’ll think it’s silly.”

“John, not three days ago I encouraged you to watch while I buried my face in your pillow to stimulate myself with your scent while I fucked the aforementioned bedding. I hardly think I’m in a position to comment on your own technique.”

John had smiled at the memory of the pillow incident, and his cock had thickened again. “That wasn’t silly. It was fucking gorgeous.”

“Tell me,” said Sherlock, his voice husky, and that wasn’t pretence. John did that to him, made his throat thick with the wanting; with the finally getting to have.

John’s smile was now a little embarrassed. “Okay but… just so you know. I don’t… I don’t expect this in real life, you know? It’s not… I wouldn’t ask you to do it. It doesn’t have to…”

“Tell me,” Sherlock repeated, but softly, and pleadingly, “You must have so many ideas. You have enough imagination for it. What’s your favourite?”

“My favourite?” John was licking his lips again, “Depends on my mood, but… this one is… right in the top three.”

“Tell me, please. Tell me while you touch yourself.” Again, the awkward phrasing, but there was John’s cock, thicker and firmer now with growing arousal.

John nodded, sharp and soldierly, and got up from the bed. When he stood, his crotch was practically in kneeling Sherlock’s face, and Sherlock naturally swayed forward to rub his face in the presented heat. John buried a hand in Sherlock’s hair and scrubbed his fingers against Sherlock’s scalp, and they both moaned.

“Just a minute,” John said, “If I’m doing this, I suppose I’d better do it properly.”

Sherlock had no idea what that meant, which was exciting enough on its own, and his cock responded swellingly to the mystery. As John went to the cupboard, Sherlock kicked off his shoes – revealing the skull socks at last – and then stripped down to his pants and arranged himself on the bed: back to the headboard and on the pillows, legs crossed in front of him.

John joined him, now utterly naked except for his dog tags, which he had just put on.

Well That shouldn’t have been a surprise, really. 

John knelt on the mattress side-on to Sherlock. “I don’t know I can do this while I’m looking at you,” he confessed, “But…”

“John,” said Sherlock, the huskiness tempered with a little impatience now, “Tell me what you’re thinking while you wank, and I promise not to say a word. I’ll be _watching_. **_Captain_**.”

More lip-licking, and John’s clever hands went to his groin and massaged his shaft a little. “Yeeeah,” he said breathily, “Yeah. Okay.”

Kneeling on the bed, then, hand on his cock, John began to describe his fantasy.

“We’re in Helmand, at the base. I’m in my quarters, and I’ve just finished my shift. There’s a knock on my door, and it’s you.”

John’s eyes were closed, and his hand was just brushing over the base of his not yet full erection, but at this he opened one eye to look at Sherlock.

“Mmm,” said Sherlock encouragingly.

John closed his eye again. “When I say you, I mean… Corporal Holmes. You’ve come back late from a patrol and your CO has told you to report to me for a check-up.”

“A check-up. Yes.”

John frowned. “Yes. A check-up. Just to make sure you’re all right. Big day out in the field. You’ve… I don’t know. Got some intel. Correctly deduced a situation or a prisoner; turned a bad situation around. Saved lives or prevented an explosion. The detail’s not really important.” He was giving Sherlock another squinty one-eyed glare, but Sherlock was looking back at him so expectantly, eagerly, he closed his eye again and tried to get back into the mood. “The thing is, you’ve done something brilliant. Amazing. Like you always do, and your CO, he likes to make sure you’re in top form, and so though it’s late, he wants you to come to see me. In my quarters. To make sure you’re fighting fit.”

Sherlock wisely kept his mouth shut at this point.

“So you knock on the door and I open it and there you are, in dusty fatigues and beret, at attention…”

*

_“Sorry to interrupt you after hours, Captain Watson,” says the Corporal, “Major Sholto was concerned and thought you should give me a once-over.”_

_Captain Watson eyes the young soldier, with his striking cheekbones and intense, pale blue eyes, and a mouth that looks in need of kissing. “You disarmed a bomb today, I hear.”_

_“Yes, sir. Turns out this one had an off switch, sir.” The Corporal smiles with his eyes._

_“Lucky for you, then.”_

_“Lucky for all of us, sir.”_

_“Another idiot might have tried to cut the wires and not look for a switch.”_

_“Another idiot tried. But I convinced the Major to let me try.”_

_Watson nods. “All right then, I’ll give you a once over.”_

_“Thank you sir.”_

_“We’ll do it here. No need to go all the way back to the medical bay.”_

_“No, sir,” and the beautiful Corporal smiles with his eyes again._

_Captain Watson beckons the Corporal in, closes and locks the door of his private quarters, and gets the soldier to stand at ease beside the bed and in front of the Captain’s tall chest of drawers._

_“Unbutton,” says the Captain, nodding, as he fetches his stethoscope._

_Corporal Holmes unbuttons his shirt with his long, clever fingers, revealing a stripe of pale skin, unmarred by the Afghani sun. Captain Watson presses the end of the stethoscope to the Corporal’s chest, and the cold of it makes the Corporal inhale, and his skin goosepimple. The Captain moves the stethoscope around the Corporal’s chest, pushing the open shirt aside. The cold edge of the stethoscope presses against the Corporal’s right nipple, making it pebble._

_“Is that a bit cold, soldier?” Watson asks._

_“A bit, sir. You’re welcome to warm it up again, if you like, sir.”_

_“That’s not a regulation request, soldier,” says Watson._

_“This isn’t a regulation check-up. Sir,” said the Corporal._

_The Captain moves the stethoscope. His licks his thumb and rubs it over the pebbled nipple. Corporal Holmes, keeping to his at ease position, gasps and holds his head up high. The Captain rubs his nipple again and the Corporal closes his eyes. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”_

_The Captain pushes aside the soldier’s shirt on the left and, after pressing the end of the stethoscope to the well-muscled chest there, and over the nipple, he licks his thumb again, and rubs that nipple too._

_The Corporal gasps again and pushes his chest out. “Please sir. I’m still cold, sir.”_

_“Can’t have that, soldier,” says the Captain, and he warms the Corporal’s left nipple by taking it in his mouth and licking it and sucking it…_

_*_

“Bite it too,” suggested Sherlock, “Just a little. I like that.”

John’s left hand, playing with his own nipple, stilled, while his right, drifting over but not pulling on his balls, also stopped mid-fondle. “Is this all right, so far?”

“John.” Sherlock’s tone insisted that John take a look at him. John opened that eye again. Sherlock was sitting, splay-legged, on the bed, hand down his underpants, clearly caressing a bulge.

“Right,’ said John, “Right, so, I… I lick you. Lick your tattoo…”

“I have a tattoo in this?”

“You do these days. Your key.”

“Why do I have this tattoo?”

“Who the fuck cares, Sherlock. It’s my fantasy and I fucking love that tatt. So you have a tatt. You’re a soldier, you should have one. Maybe you have lots.”

“Good,” said Sherlock, and tugged softly on his own balls, making sure that John could see the movement, “Tell me what you do next.”

“I bite you – just a little, and…”

*

_The Corporal arches into the sensation of the Captain’s teeth scraping the nub of his left nipple, and then sucking on it again. Then the Captain licks over the pebbling skin, and over the tattoo of the key._

_“This is new,” he says to the Corporal._

_“Yes, sir. I got it last leave, sir.”_

_“It looks like my initials.”_

_“They are, sir.” And he doesn’t have to say anything else for them to both know that the Corporal has done this because he wants to belong to Captain Watson._

_The Captain lick-sucks the tattoo and again the nipple, while he reaches up to lightly pinch the other, and the Corporal, still at ease with his hands behind his back, his feet slightly parted, gasps and pushes his chest forward, into the Captain’s busy mouth._

_Finally, the Captain stands back a little. The Corporal’s pale skin is flushed, and he is biting his bottom lip. He looks debauched. He looks perfect._

_“Shoes off, Corporal,” says the Captain, “I’ll check your feet.”_

_The soldier can’t simply toe off his boots, so he bends down to untie them. The Captain stands aside to watch the curve of Corporal Holmes’s arse. He puts his hand on the top of one cheek and firmly slides his hand down over the lush rump to the top of his thigh. The Corporal fumbles untying the laces. The Captain squeezes his arse cheek, pats it, then squeezes and pats the other side. He slips his hand briefly between the Corporal’s legs, a passing brush that draws a breathless mewl from the Corporal._

_The Captain stands back a little, hands behind his back, and nods. “I said shoes off, then stand at attention.”_

_The Corporal tugs his shoes off, socks too, and stands at attention. It’s obvious that parts of him are standing independently to attention._

_The Captain runs his hands down the Corporal’s skin, under the open shirt, pausing to brush and then roll the nubs of the Corporal’s nipples between thumb and forefinger. Then he presses the flats of his hands over the Corporal’s stomach, over his waist and hips, over his thighs and calves. He ends, kneeling in front of the Corporal, and taps his left thigh._

_The Corporal places his right foot on the Captain’s left thigh and the Captain explores his foot. Lifts it to his mouth and licks the arch…_

*

“You lick my foot after I’ve come in from _patrol_?”

“Sherlock, for fuck’s sake…”

“Sorry. It’s a fantasy. My feet are fine.”

“Yes, they’re fine,” said John forcefully, “You take terrific care of your feet. Corporal Holmes knows I like them.”

Sherlock did not in fact know that John liked his feet that much, and filed the information away for later. “I do,” he said, “And I keep them perfect for you.”

“You do…”

*

_The Captain licks the arch of Corporal Holmes’s foot, then mouths his ankle and sucks a little on his toes before placing the foot back on the floor. He taps his other thigh and is presented with the Corporal’s other foot. This time he licks between the Corporals perfectly clean, perfectly fresh toes, wriggling his tongue until the Corporal, still attempting to maintain his at-attention stance, whines needily._

_Having placed both bare feet on the floor again, the Captain rises and presses the heel of his hand to the Corporal’s erection, through his fatigues. “This seems healthy enough,” he says, “But I’ll check.”_

_“Yes sir, please, sir,” gasps the Corporal._

_The Captain presses the stethoscope to the Corporal’s abdomen first. He waits a moment, looking into the face of his soldier, the beret on his head hiding the Corporal’s dark curls. The Corporal’s eyes are still smiling at him, but they’re full of want now too, and his neck and cheeks and ears are flushed a gorgeous pink. The Captain uses his free hand to gently squeeze the Corporal’s cock through his fatigues, and Corporal Holmes looks like his knees are going to give out on him._

_“At attention, soldier,” says the Captain, and Corporal Holmes makes his knees lock and he stands tall again._

_The Captain slides the stethoscope down the Corporal’s abdomen under the waistband of his fatigues, drags the cool metal through the thatch of curls until it rests against the base of the Corporal’s thick and straining cock. The back of the Captain’s hand brushes against something that is definitely not standard issue cloth._

_“What’s this, Corporal Holmes?” asks the Captain, looking the soldier in the eye._

_“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” says the Corporal, and he is obviously lying._

_“I mean, that is not regulation uniform, is it Corporal Holmes?”_

_“No, sir,” agrees the soldier, and his breath is coming harder._

_“And what are they?”_

_“For you, sir,” says the Corporal._

_The Captain withdraws the stethoscope, which he takes off and drops aside. Slowly, he unbuttons the waistband of the Corporal’s fatigues._

_He pulls down the zip._

_Revealing a pair of bright red panties._

*

“What kind?”

Sherlock’s voice was both curious and breathless. John paused in the act of sliding his hand over his own shaft to look at Sherlock, who had shoved his pants down his thighs and was cupping both cock and balls in one hand and massaging himself slowly.

“Satin and lace.”

“Women’s underwear?”

“… Yes.”

“Oh.”

“It doesn’t mean I wish you were a woman,” said John gruffly, “I mean, the whole point is that you’re very much a man.”

“In women’s panties.”

"Yes. No. Maybe. Look, it's not about.... not about feminising you. It's not about trying to make you look like a woman. What makes you think you'd look at all like a woman in red lacy panties? It's the whole point. Lacy panties under army fatigues, soft fabric under desert gear. This flimsy bit of satin but with this huge cock in them...”

“A huge cock, now?”

John finally stopped rubbing himself. “Shut up. We don't have to do this. It's not about wanting you to do this in real life anyway. I’m not all unsatisfied because you... it's a _fantasy,_ all right?”

Sherlock was instantly repentant, because he had been enjoying himself watching John enjoy himself, and now his big mouth had messed it up. "I'm sorry John. I understand. A sensuous garment appears in your fantasy for both textural and visual appeal. And of course a... a huge cock in a pair of red silk panties wouldn't look feminine. How could it? It’s the contrast of the masculinity with sensuousness..."

“You don’t have to bloody _analyse_ it.”

Sensing disaster looming, and wanting this very much to continue, Sherlock pulled on his own cock again, so that John could see how hard he was. “I like the sound of it. Red satin panties. Under my uniform. Yes.” His voice dropped low, and he was hardly pretending the effect this whole thing had on him. He was hard as a damned brick now. He was imagining the roughness of fatigues on his thighs, contrasted with the slippery softness of satin against his arse and balls and his fat, no, his _huge_ cock.

“Please, sir,” said Sherlock, "Tell me more about my silky panties, sir."

John moaned in response to Sherlock’s enthusiastic taking on of the role play, and began running his curled fingers up and down his cock again. Instead of closing his eyes completely, though, he let then droop nearly shut and then looked at Sherlock slow-wanking through his lashes, and described them.

*

_The Captain pulls the Corporal’s trousers open, the better to see the very much non-regulation panties. They’re deep red, crimson, a lovely contrast to the Corporal’s pale skin as well as the dark, neatly trimmed curls of his pubic thatch. The satin is stretched and damp in one spot, the material bulging with the plump, hot cock that they barely contain._

_The Captain pushes his hand against the front of the panties, against the Corporal’s erection, and rubs. His fingers slide wonderfully over the satin, and the satin slides gloriously over the hot cock inside the panties, and the Corporal gasps and whines and tries to stay at attention, but he can’t help the little jerk of his hips into the Captain’s hand._

_With nimble fingers, the Captain pulls the waistband of the panties out and looks at the glistening head of the Corporal’s cock, just peeking above the lace._

_The Captain licks his thumb and then rubs it in a slow circle over the slit of that gorgeous, big cock. He does this three or four times, while the Corporal’s body shakes with desire._

_With the tips of his fingers, the Captain rubs over the soldier’s foreskin, pulling it up, pushing it back. It’s maddening, and not enough, and glorious, and Corporal Holmes gasps, “Sir, god. Sir. Fuck. Sir. Please. Fuck. Fuck me. Sir. Please.”_

_Once more rubbing slow circles over the head of the Corporal’s cock, the Captain leans up and finally kisses the Corporal’s gorgeous mouth. It’s a claiming kiss, commanding, as he sucks and bites on the Corporal’s lips and tongue, as he seals their mouths together and the Corporal makes a sound in the back of his throat, wanton keening, and kisses the Captain hungrily, and the Captain kisses back, feeding the hunger and yet making him want more. It’s a passionate kiss, made all the more passionate by the way the Captain fondles and rubs the Corporal’s cock within the confines of those pretty, slippery, bright red knickers._

_“Turn,” says the Captain, and the Corporal turns to grip the large chest of drawers there._

_The Captain tugs down his soldier’s fatigues, but not the panties. The panties stay exactly where they are. The fatigues are only pulled down to the Corporal’s thighs._

_The Corporal loves it._

_The Captain does too, taking the Corporal’s delicious arse in both hands and squeezing the firm flesh, then smoothing his hands over skin and satin. The Captain slips his index fingers under the lace at either side and brushes the skin, over rump, down to the crease of the soldier’s legs, and under, tickling his balls, which are growing tight._

_“Please, sir,” gasps the Corporal again._

_The Captain does not pull down the panties. Instead, he hooks his fingers into one side and pulls the cloth across, exposing the cleft of that gorgeous backside. Unseen, the Corporal’s thick cock is more closely trapped in the satin, which rubs against his shaft and balls and most of the crown._

_The Captain holds the satin aside with one hand and slips two fingers into the cleft, and against the hole._

_The Captain rubs. The Corporal keens and pushes back onto his fingers._

_*_

“Just assume you’re lubed up, all right?”

“John. John, don’t interrupt. Fuck him. Me. Him.”

*

_The Captain undoes his own trousers, pushes his pants down, wraps one hand around his own cock to get it to full hardness while he slowly finger-fucks the Corporal. The satin knickers have slid partly back into place, so he can’t see his fingers buried in the soldier’s arse cheeks – but he can see how his knuckles move under the bright red fabric, and knows how tightly the satin is being pulled against the Corporal’s big cock, and the Corporal is pushing back against his fingers , making little mewling sounds._

_Without pulling the Corporal’s fatigues down any further, Captain Watson leaves off fingering this gorgeous arse so he can pull the satin aside again. Then he positions his cock and pushes in, panting as his slick crown bumps against Corporal Holmes’s lovely little hole, and then he grunts as he pushes again and breaches the hot, tight space, until he’s fully seated, up to the hilt, in that glorious, slick arse. Then he starts to pump his hips and to talk in a low, gruff voice._

_“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he says, “In your pretty panties. Your arse, fuck, I love having my dick in you, right up you, fuck yes.” The slow drag of his cock, in and out, is maddening-marvellous, and the rucked-up panties brush against one side of his shaft. The sound of his dog tags clinking together in rhythm with his rocking hips spurs him on, married to the soft, wet sounds of lube against the Corporal’s hole and his cock and oh, fuck, this is fantastic. “I love fucking you. You love it too, don’t you? My cock right up you, yes, fucking hell, yes.”_

_“Yes, yes, yes,” gasps the Corporal with carnal sincerity, “fuck me harder. Sir. Please. I love your cock up me, sir, fucking me, yes sir.”_

_The Corporal bends over further, jutting his arse out and moving his hips to meet each thrust. He reaches down to touch himself, but the Captain catches his wrist and puts it back onto the sideboard._

_“Not yet, soldier. I want to do it this way. I want to make you come in your panties just by fucking you.”_

_Corporal Holmes moans his approval and pushes his arse harder backwards, joyfully impaling himself on his Captain’s big, stiff cock._

_“You love your pretty panties, don’t you Corporal?” says the Captain, curling his hips in a steady rhythm, feeling the glide of his cock in and out of that tight, slick little space, feeling that lush arse pushing against his thighs and hips, “Don’t you?”_

_When the Corporal is too busy whimper-keen-moaning to reply, the Captain pulls him back hard by the hips, burying his cock in deep, and he says, “ **Tell me**.”_

_“Yes sir,” groans the Corporal, “Fuck yes, sir. I love my panties…”_

_“Your pretty panties.”_

_“I love my pretty panties, sir.”_

_“Your pretty red panties.”_

_“Yes, sir, I love my pretty red panties sir, I love you fucking me in my pretty red panties. Fuck me sir. Yes sir. Please.”_

_The Captain continues to oblige the Corporal, pumping slow, then fast, then slow again._

_The beret tumbles from the Corporal’s hair and Holmes’s curls tumble free. With every slap of skin as the Captain thrusts forward, met by the Corporal’s backward push, the sweat-damp curls sway, and the Captain fucks his soldier a little harder, because he loves how that looks, those curls swaying in time with each tight, slapping slide into that willing, beautiful body._

_“I want you to come in your panties for me, Corporal Holmes,” says the Captain, speeding up again, loving the clink of the dog tags getting faster too, loving the tight muscles where he is buried gripping his cock as the Corporal grows closer to orgasm, and the deep moans he can hear, a masculine rumble that makes him think of that big cock tight-wrapped in red satin, and the slick head peeking above the waistband, and firm bollocks not properly confined by the strip of satin between his soldier’s legs, all that masculinity wrapped up in satin and lace. Fuck, yes._

_“I want you to make them soaking wet for me, your pretty red panties,” says the Captain, or rather gasps the command. Slap slap slap, god, so tight and perfect, sliding up and down his cock, and those plush curves pushing firm-soft against his thighs, “Tell me what you’re going to do, Sherlock.”_

*

“I’m going to come in my pretty red panties for you sir, and make a mess of them, and please sir, please, fuck me and come in me and clean me up with my panties and I’ll keep them, sir, sticky with us, sir…”

And Sherlock, wanking furiously, came so hard he shot come across the five feet separating them, onto John’s thigh and hand and, _Jesus,_ his straining, swelling erection.

“Fuck. Sherlock. Jesus. Fuck. God.”

And John came so hard and for so long that it was possible he passed out for a few microseconds.

For long moments, Sherlock lay collapsed and panting against the bedhead while John, once feeling returned to his extremities, toppled over sideways. He ended up with his head on the mattress between Sherlock’s spread shins. When more feeling returned, he crawled up the bed towards Sherlock.

Sherlock reached for him with terribly uncoordinated hands. When he finally found purchase, he helped to tug John up until John was collapsed half over him, face nuzzled into Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock nuzzled into John’s hair.

“It seems,” Sherlock said, smug and sated and excited by the possibilities, “I need to go shopping for panties.”

John giggled breathlessly, and agreed.


End file.
